


Afternoon

by Ladycat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dom/sub, Drabble, M/M, PWP, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now, now." Harry's eyes are leaf-green and scarily bright as he abruptly uncurls, grabbing Draco's wrists and flattening them against the bed. "It doesn't work if you throw me off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon

One of the tapestries flaps as something runs past it.

Draco has approximately two seconds to notice the moving tapestry, turn towards it, and possibly attempt to figure out what caused it to move in the first place -- when something large and heavy slams into him, knocking him down.

He shrieks, as high and shrill as that pathetic female Weasel, the one who isn't nearly as cowed by him as her brother, but still screams so very nicely.

There's a nice pregnant pause where Draco wonders what beast got loose from Hagrid or, worse, if something of his father's had found him, something that was probably not directly _from_ his father and is going to hurt him or eat him or possibly make him shave his head bald like Melinda Creed had to, over the summer -- and then Draco realizes the shape shifting on top of him is entirely familiar, and laughing at him.

"Potter!" he shouts. He has to clear his throat to deepen it, twice, which only makes Potter laugh even harder. "What the bloody hell are you -- "

"Now, now." Harry's eyes are leaf-green and scarily bright as he abruptly uncurls, grabbing Draco's wrists and flattening them against the bed. "It doesn't work if you throw me off."

"What doesn't work?" Even to his own ears he sounds unforgivably petulant. "What are you even _doing_ here, you're going to get me in trouble!"

Not Potter; Potter doesn't get in trouble, Draco conveniently forgetting the many, many detentions he's laughed about. Regardless, Draco doesn't _care_ if Potter gets in trouble. That's thoroughly irrelevant, particularly as Potter doesn't have Severus Snape as a house-leader.

And then there's that other reason...

Potter grins at him, boyish and free and just a little bit angry. He's not saying anything, just holding him down and watching. Waiting, really, and Draco abruptly knows what for. "You just came from frog-face, didn't you?"

Doloros Umbrage wasn't disliked solely by Gryffindor's, and Draco had formed that opinion long before this... before _this_ had started.

"I did," Potter says. Very slowly, so much so that it's hard to figure out when it started, Potter's moving over him. Rocking, really, letting his weight come down on the wrists he's still gripping before undulating back so that there's warm, steady pressure directly over Draco's hips. "I've got detention in a few hours."

Without thinking, Draco's eyes flick to the hand he can't see, the one he knows is marked. He wants to lick it, to suck on the growing red lines there like the heat from his own mouth could erase them. He's going to do it, too, one day. But not when Potter is nearly bubbling with energy and repressed anger and frustration.

Not when Potter's dick is lined up so perfectly against his own.

"Undress us," Potter orders.

Draco sneers just for formality's sake, not even letting himself think about how hot that makes Potter, particularly when it's a useless sneer, unable to be backed up by any kind of real force. The spell to strip someone was something Draco had never explained _how_ he knew and fortunately, Potter's never asked. The words curl through his mind, one of the only spells he can do wandless, and suddenly --

_Oh,_ yes.

Harry is starting to deepen around the chest, his shoulders suddenly sporting ropes of muscles that weren't there before. His skin is still silken, still as smooth as Draco's own, but there's a few curls that've sprung up on his chest and Draco wants nothing more than to bury his face in them, rubbing until his cheeks are pink.

Fortunately, Harry knows all about that particular kink and obliges -- bracketing Draco's naked hips with his knees, Harry pushes up so his body curves, hips still fused as his chest rubs against chin and teeth and nose and oh, oh, this is perfect. Draco cranes his neck, rubbing against cool hairs that tickle his face, against hotter skin that scalds what isn't friction-flushed, and he can hardly _breathe_ like this, with Potter's ever-increasing bulk weighing him down.

"You're really quite balmy," Potter says conversationally. Draco's found a nipple, by now, and it's being leisurely sucked. Potter gives no indication the sensation is good or bad, just leans into it a touch more. "I mean, Draco, I've got to be suffocating you."

"I told you to call me Malfoy," he hisses, releasing Potter with a wet _pop_.

Potter retaliates with a swift, sudden kiss, Draco's tongue nipped hard enough to make him cry out as Potter pulls back again. "I don't bloody care what you told me to call you, _Draco."_

He shivers, flexing in Potter's iron, immovable grip. He's always taunted things bigger and stronger than he is; this is the first time it's taunted him back and Draco likes that _just_ fine. "Very well, then. What do you want?"

"You mean it isn't obvious?" Potter undulates again and suddenly Draco is intimately aware of his cock; his attentions shift as fast and completely as a flick of someone's wand. "C'mon, Draco."

Licking his lips, Draco considers saying no. He does, occasionally, just to keep Potter guessing -- but then there's a smooth, silken glide of his cock next to Harry's, both warm and slick with lubricant, pleasure shivering up to pool in his belly, and no, no Draco can't possibly say no to _this_.

"Thought so," Potter whispers. He kisses Draco again, hard enough that it stings and sometimes Draco can taste bitter metal. They're both moving, now, rocking harder and faster together as Potter shoves him back into the bed, over and over. The bed squeaks faintly, the barest warning should anyone come into the Draco's room. They won't _see_ anything -- Draco's made sure of that -- but there are times Draco absolutely doesn't want to be disturbed.

Lying under Potter's bulk, the head of Potter's cock leaving quickly-dry trails of wet and warmth over Draco's stomach, while the bright-white twist of skin rubbing together blinds and deafens him, is definitely one of those times.

"Harder," Potter orders. He's really angry, fingers digging in like claws around Draco's wrists. It's not anger at Draco, and Draco doesn't think Potter's going to take it out on him -- and just like that, they're moving fast, then _faster_ , fucking and rutting against each other while the bed thump, thump, thumps against the wall. Draco can hear himself panting, hear Potter's own ragged breathing and oh, oh he _wants_.

"Did she tell you what a foul thing you are?" Draco asks. One phrase and suddenly Potter's balanced on his palms for leverage, no matter that they're still holding Draco wrists, shoved painfully deep into the mattress. "Did she tell you all kinds of bad things about yourself?"

Faster still, now, and Draco's moaning whenever he's not goading Potter into frotting more firmly against him. This is why the two of them together, why their divergent personalities work, their opposite positions suddenly no longer a public issue.

Because Potter is a demon in the sack, ruthlessly learning how to turn Draco on, how to get him off, and the best ways for Draco to do the same for him. This time, fortunately, all Draco has to do is lie there and be rubbed on. He lifts his legs, wrapping them around Potter's hips and that's the cue Potter seems to be waiting for.

The bed slams against the wall as they rub back and forth against each other, panting in each other's faces and trading kisses as frequently as they trade insults, almost snarling at each other until Draco comes with a bitten-off-shout.

Potter drives himself to a frenzy, then, rubbing almost too hard against Draco -- it hurts, yes, but it's still perfect despite the discomfort. Draco hears himself say, "C'mon, come _on_ , Potter. Yes, yes, already come on, I want to feel it on my skin. Now, c'mon, _Harry._ "

He sounds like a small hyppogrif dying when Potter comes, hot and wet and perfect all over Draco's naked belly and cock. 

After a few moments, Draco fusses until Potter rolls onto his side, transferring his grip from Draco's wrists to his waist. Draco allows the clinging, wrapping his arms around Potter and stroking the tumble of black, messy hair that never stays short enough, curling around the back of Potter's neck.

"I think you rubbed all the skin on my cock right off," Draco says when Potter's very nearly asleep, breathing slow and even against Draco's neck. 

"Yeah. Oops?"

He's not actually complaining, despite complaining. "That's all well and good, but I thought we agreed we'd try blow-jobs next."

"Hm," Potter mutters, curling up even more tightly. The curtains draw around them without a single wave of Potter's wand, the lights dimming to misty shadow. They have a few hours, Draco knows, and while this is risky, it's also... nice. Really very nice. "Y'can blow me when I wake up," Potter slurs.

"That -- that's not!" That's not what he means at all, but now that the image is in Draco's head, he can't get rid of it. Timing himself to wake up a few minutes early and kissing the musculature of Potter's chest, tasting a cock dried salty with Draco's essence, watching as Potter stares back down at him, at the way his cock slides it and out of Draco's lips...

"Yes, all right," Draco grumbles, but his heart isn't it in. And Potter knows. "All right.


End file.
